How many times has Murdoch told you not to ride out this far, young lady?
Once.
And how many times have I told you not to ride out this far?
I’ve lost count.
Thus the struggle to balance our ledger continues.
Scott leaned against the large oak tree’s offering of a backrest. How many times had he and Kinsey locked horns while repeating that conversation word for word? A soft breeze rustled leaves and brushed a smile on his face. He didn’t know. He’d stopped counting - not from exhaustion over his little cousin’s cheeky opposition, but from enlightenment with her unexpected perspective.
It’s why I like to come here. I can’t spy one bloody thing in these surroundings which reminds me of Melbourne.
Scott’s senses soaked in Kinsey’s observation. Toasted earthy smells of rich soil and prairie grasses warmed by the sun replaced the stench of back bay waters while the sky freely gifted an intense blue without the cloaking of a fog bank or Nor’easter. It wasn’t just Melbourne these surroundings had nothing in common with and his brotherly reprimands regarding the oak tree had ceased.
So, what better place to read his letter from Boston? And truth be told, the old oak respected a man’s privacy, making it a damn fine audience to share the Sacramento correspondence with. Yes, it was a good choice to push his yet-to-be-validated concerns aside and gain a better perspective.
Scott slipped one of two folded envelopes out of his shirt pocket.
And why would ye be choosin’ yer grandfather’s letter to read first, ScottyGarrett?
“Why did I always eat the fruit filling and then your buttery pie crust, Winifred?”
Ye said ye were savin’ the best for last.
“Exactly.”
By God, how he missed Winnie’s apple pies.
With his stag handle pocket knife, Scott slit open the envelope and unfolded the customary stationery displaying the handwriting of Harlan Garrett.
Deep breath. Slow exhale. Begin.
Grandson,
Receiving your telegram fulfilled my prayers the Good Lord had not heard repeated so often since my days of worriment while you endured hell in the hands of the Confederacy.
After the war, in the quiet of his grandfather's study, Scott learned he wasn’t the only one who had endured hell as Winnie explained the discovered stacks of hoarded newspapers listing Union casualties.
Now, under squinted scrutiny, the elder Garrett’s penmanship appeared less precise and proper - testament that the long few days filled with not knowing the names of Jupiter’s survivors had brought back the past for Harlan. A past which had rapped once or twice on Scott’s door since the accident.
My prayers also embraced our dear Kinsey and young Westcott. I am thankful God saw fit to spare this old man the heartache of loss and guide those in peril through the valley of the shadow of death.
A grin of fondness played on Scott’s lips from the choice of words by the letter’s author. The Garrett matriarch had been a devout Episcopalian, more so than her husband. Scott’s memory of his grandmother’s voice had faded to a wisp, yet the woman’s influence would bubble up from time to time from the mouth of his grandfather when least expected.
Correspondingly, young Westcott’s telegram successfully arrived into his mother’s hands. As you can imagine, the welcomed news of her son’s well-being brought joy to Roberta’s heart.
An eyebrow raised. Roberta? When did deep-rooted social etiquette allow Harlan Garrett to casually toss out the first name of a woman he hardly knew?
Having our heavy burdens of disquietude lifted, a celebratory supper at the Parker House seemed in order.
Cawing crows took flight from a nearby tree. Naturalists claimed wildlife could sense a brewing storm and would take cover. Scott noted the flock headed west, not east.
Of course, conversation eventually led to the unfortunate event which prevented our children from continuing their journey to Boston. What a blessing it would’ve been with all of you sharing in the evening’s fine dining. Yes, The Jupiter, like a thief in the night, stole the opportunity to break bread with my grandson while congratulating my niece on her engagement to a fine upstanding young man. A young man who, in my opinion, exhibits the refined attributes which could only be instilled in him by a proud and caring mother.
Scott’s eyes drifted from his grandfather’s Thespian description of denied family socializing to the now distant crows, considering for a moment the birds’ survival instinct.
I’m pleased to report, Scotty, The Parkerhouse’s cheesecake continues to be not only superb, but inspirational. During the servings of dessert, our lamentation of canceled plans for Kinsey and Seth’s engagement celebrations here in Boston was transformed into adventurous anticipation.
Roberta and I both agreed our souls, weary from worry, deserve a holiday. And so I ask you, what better place to spend that holiday than in California with loved ones? Of course, this journey won’t be immediate. Arrangements must first be made for day-to-day activities to carry on smoothly in my extended absence.
Scott’s brow dipped. “Extended?”
With a foresightful whinny, Boots suggested horse and rider track the crows all the way to the Pacific Ocean… and then jump in.
Roberta’s various social engagements will also require days of rescheduling. Considering all involved, I’m confident loose ends will be neatly tied up by the end of the month, allowing us to book passage on the Transcontinental.
I’ve spoken highly of your ranch, Scotty, while the dear Mrs. Westcott is eager to give me a tour of her vineyard. What lovely settings for an engagement party and wedding. And now through God’s grace, I’m able to attend both.
However, the true blessing is the abundance of time I will be spending with my grandson. May the wait to make amends, speak the unspoken words of forgiveness and discuss a few unresolved issues over a good brandy pass quickly.
Grandfather
Scott leaned his head back against the trunk of the old oak tree. A soft breeze fluttered the open letter held in his hand. Pondering the many philosophical phrases he’d soaked up from his Aussie cousin, one stood out as the perfect pronouncement to the current situation.
“Sweet fancy Moses.”